


When the Storm Breaks

by BECandCall



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Porn, Broody Fenris (Dragon Age), Established Relationship, F/M, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Prompt Fic, Purple Hawke, Rivalry, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 22:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19473784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BECandCall/pseuds/BECandCall
Summary: Hawke and Fenris have a tumultuous relationship, to say the least. And the consequences of it could be dire. The problem is, neither seems capable of breaking away.





	When the Storm Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt request from a fellow fanfic writer. Prompt was: "Fuck me like you hate me." Optional companion song for this fic, that I've long considered the best ship song for a rivalmance between Hawke and Fenris: "Apocalyptic" by Halestorm. Also "War" by Icon for Hire helped inspire me for the imagery of this fic.

They fucked like a storm. Sound and fury, chaos and destruction. They left their marks across each other’s landscapes, tore through barriers and pushed limits, individually and together. Their surroundings would echo with the cries and moans and curses they would bring forth. Each new peak was a challenge to do better, go further. Higher. Deeper. Harder. 

When at long last they were spent, bedlam was left in their wake. The disarray would sometimes take days or weeks to be returned to order. Curtains needed re-hung, clothes and sheets washed and folded, surfaces sanitized and buffed. After one particularly energetic session, an entire bed frame required replacement. The story of that one took on near-legendary status amongst the patrons of the Hanged Man, though whenever asked about it, Hawke would only raise her brows and smirk, uncharacteristically taciturn. Fenris would scowl, and was rarely asked twice. 

When they were alone, engulfed in each other’s limbs, drenched with sweat, suffocating in the scent of oils and candles and breath and cum, there was a synchrony about them that was almost a magic in itself. When they were out amongst the city, however, things were very different. They agreed on almost nothing; from mages to crime to drinking to joking, they fought constantly. And with every fight, the storm brewed. 

Their companions had learned to spot the signs. A snide remark could be in jest, but it added to the tension in the air around them. A quiet argument in the corner could turn loud at any moment, culminating in one of them charging out, shouting abuses and curses over their shoulder. And the pressure would grow. It grew until their ears nearly popped and filled everyone around them with nervous energy. 

The surest sign that things were about to boil over was when they said nothing at all to each other. The calm before the storm. That was when the others started finding excuses to stay away, knowing it was best to weather the coming maelstrom from the safety of their homes. 

When the pressure was that high, nearly anything would set it off. An ill-timed chuckle, a sideways glance, a roll of the eyes. The silence would transform into a cacophony of ecstasy, and the dam would burst, destroying all barriers between them. 

On some level, they both knew this wasn’t healthy. Neither cared. Fenris knew there was quiet beyond these destructive urges, and knew no other path to that end. Hawke seemed to revel in the destruction itself. 

“Fuck me like you hate me,” she’d moan into his neck. 

He obliged readily. An easy enough request, after all. Because he did hate her. Oh, how he hated her. Her snide confidence, the easy way she had of making friends, the way she never seemed to take anything seriously, never considered consequences, tore through restrictions like they were annoyances and not boundaries to be obeyed. He hated how free she was, hated how it reminded him of the shackles he still bore, in spirit and long after he’d broken the literal chains that once held him. 

His hands found her hips, fingers dug in deep with his passion, leaving bruises that would not be seen until the morning. Her teeth and tongue traced lines across his chest and neck, her screams filled his ears, nearly deafening. Every thrust inside her was an attack, and she thrived on it. And he hated that too. He fed that hate, that heat. He stoked the fires within himself to give her what she craved, and somehow that filled a need deep in his core. A need without a name, it defied his understanding, but demanded satisfaction all the same. 

Sometimes it would last for hours, sometimes it was over in minutes. When the storm finally passed, he never stayed long. He feared the silence for its need to be filled. Because the terrible truth was that he didn’t hate her. His pull to her was something he’d never felt before, and it terrified him. So he would disappear, finding business to attend to outside the city for a few days, a few weeks, however long it took for him to stop fearing the silence and start missing her. Then he would return, and they would carry on like nothing had changed. 

Except with each departure, he grew more afraid of the return, stayed away longer. And every time he left without a word, she was left with the silence of everything they hadn’t said. The silence demanded to be filled, and was growing louder in the aftermath of each storm. Though she hid it better, she was afraid too. Afraid that the silence would swallow them whole, and they would break themselves against each other in their desperation not to speak the truth. 

This wasn’t hate. But it wasn’t love either. 

They weren’t the embodiment of the storm; they were caught up in it, and neither seemed to know how to navigate their way out. Both were just trying to keep their heads above water, both dragging the other under in their frantic flailing to stay afloat. They would drown each other unless they parted. 

And the truth was, they wanted to drown.


End file.
